


don’t let me go

by retts



Category: SHINee
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Healing, references to depression and suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: Minho bit the inside of his cheek as he stood frozen in place, one hand on the handle of the cupboard door. His grief felt like a wave crashing over him, dragging him under until it was impossible to breathe. Other times it lapped gently at his toes, the water cold, sending a delicate prickle through him that made him shudder.





	don’t let me go

**Author's Note:**

> this is for me, for you, for them, for him. i based this around my own feelings and experiences. 
> 
> turn around if you feel you will be offended.

* * *

 

 

Minho was the first one to arrive. He stayed in his car for a long while, hands clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel. It was snowing, the kind of steady fall that would eventually blanket everything in a fine layer of ice. The inside of the car was warm, the engine humming quietly, the radio turned off. He told himself to get out of the car and into the house; there were things to be done. He said this inside his head and then out loud a few times. Finally, Minho let go of the steering wheel, picked up the paper bags on the passenger seat and got out of the car. It was freezing, and the shock of it jolted something inside Minho. He blinked like he was just waking up. Minho wiped the snowflakes from his cheek and jogged towards the front door, fumbling with the key fob to lock his car as he stomped the excess snow from his boots on the welcome mat.

He didn’t have time to knock; he was raising his fist when the door opened. Key grabbed the bags from him, tossed them unceremoniously aside, and wrapped his arms around Minho. 

‘You’re cold,’ Key complained, muffled by the collar of the thick coat Minho wore. 

The tighter Minho hugged Key, the worse the ache in his chest felt. Was it going to be like this forever? Minho hoped not or he’d never see any of them again. 

‘Come on, let’s get inside,’ said Minho, nudging Key backwards. Key squeezed his shoulders and then pulled away, dragging Minho inside with a grip on his coat. Minho clucked his tongue when he saw the bags strewn on the floor and he picked them up, peering into a bag to make sure nothing had been damaged. ‘What if you broke something? And you’d just blame _me_.’ 

‘Can’t be helped if you chose gifts that would easily break,’ said Key, waiting for Minho to take off his boots. Fairy lights hung across the wall, leading the way to the living room, tinsel trailing after them. There was a Christmas tree on the coffee table with a blue star on top. Five little dolls were clustered under the synthetic leaves. 

Minho put the bags aside as he knelt on the floor. He traced the smile on one of the dolls. ‘Where did you get these?’ 

‘Oh, I’ve had them for a while. Probably during a show? A fan meet? Our fans give us too much.’ 

‘The five of us, though?’ 

Key shrugged, sinking into the sofa with a throw pillow on his lap. He picked at the zipper with his fingernail. Minho tapped the doll on its head and looked at Key. There were dark shadows under his eyes, tight lines on the corners of his mouth. He was curled into himself like a heavy weight rested on his shoulders. Minho knew all too well how that felt. Minho shuffled closer and touched Key’s knee. Key’s face crumpled and he bent down and hid his tears into the pillow. Minho blinked hard and buried his face in Key’s hair. 

‘Don’t cry into my hair,’ hiccuped Key, and Minho laughed, squeezing tight when Key found his hand and latched on. 

‘I’m not.’ Minho sighed and rubbed his knuckles across his eyes. They felt hot and swollen. The make up artists were going to have a hell of a job trying to hide them. ‘Hey, where are your children?’ 

As if on cue, two balls of fluff ran out from the hallway that led to the bedrooms, yipping over one another. CommesDes bumped into Minho’s thigh with a whine. Minho ran his palm down the dog’s back, finding simple comfort in the softness of its fur. Key shifted until he was half lying on the sofa, and scooped Garçons up on his lap.  

‘Here they are,’ said Key fondly, nuzzling into black fur. 

‘They should be arriving any minute now, right?’ Minho took out his phone and opened the group chat. He had a bit of a swallowing moment - every time, really - and he resisted the impulse to scroll up and dig the pain deeper into his heart. He bit his lip, hesitating with his thumb over the screen. CommesDes took a mouthful of his sleeve and gave a playful tug. ‘Do you think we should make a new one?’

Key shook his head sharply. ‘No! Yes? I don’t know.’

Minho covered his face with his hand, felt the coolness of the phone screen against his cheek. ‘This is so fucked up.’

‘Minho - ’

‘I’m getting water,’ said Minho abruptly, but his hand was gentle when he pushed the dog away and got to his feet. ‘Want one?’

‘No.’

Minho pocketed his phone and went into the kitchen. He knew every inch of this place; felt at home enough to walk around without asking permission. It was the same at Taemin’s house, although the politeness came out whenever his family was home. They were all pieces of home. They’ve slept in each other’s rooms, left clothes, borrowed shoes, had their own toothbrushes - 

Right now, he could head over to Jonghyun’s house to watch TV - 

Except -

Minho bit the inside of his cheek as he stood frozen in place, one hand on the handle of the cupboard door. His grief felt like a wave crashing over him, dragging him under until it was impossible to breathe. Other times it lapped gently at his toes, the water cold, sending a delicate prickle through him that made him shudder. He suppressed a sob; it caught painfully in his throat. It felt like he didn’t have a single tear left in him after the funeral but they still dropped from his eyes and onto the marble countertop. He couldn’t move. If he did, he’d surely crumple to the ground; only the grip he had on the cupboard held him upright. 

‘Minho - ’

Well, fuck. He hated it when people saw him crying. It didn’t have anything to do with showing weakness (only a little bit: wasn’t he supposed to be the strong one? the pillar?) but because it felt too private to share even with his closest friends. Tears of laughter were different, or tears required by the character he was playing, or tears from watching a sad film.  

He wanted to tell Key to go away, trying to find the kindest words to say it with and getting it past his tight throat. He couldn’t. Minho glared down at the countertop. 

‘You’re going to break my cupboard,’ said Key, coming to stand beside him. Cold, gentle fingers pried his hand away from the handle. ‘Come on, let go.’ 

Minho let his hand drop and turned away. 

‘So you’re going to watch me cry but I can’t do the same for you?’ There was a belligerent tone creeping into Key’s voice, and he tugged on Minho’s sleeve. ‘Dammit, Minho, look at me!’

Minho closed his eyes, hunched his shoulders in. 

‘You haven’t looked anyone in the eye since - ’ Key let out a ragged sigh. ‘Since.’ 

‘What good would that do?’ asked Minho, clenching his hand at the sound of his voice. Too sad. Too rough. 

Key’s hand reached up and stroked the back of his head. Minho bit down on his lip, hard. 

‘You can grieve with us, you know,’ said Key softly, sadly. ‘You don’t have to do this alone. We always help each other, right?’ 

Too many thoughts crowded in Minho’s head: regrets, what ifs, blame. If only, if only, if only. 

‘If only - ’ Minho cut himself off and pressed his fists to his eyes. 

‘Yeah, if only,’ Key murmured. ‘You think you’re the only one who thinks that? Thinks that if you were there, if you’d called him, or invited him to dinner then maybe he’d still be alive?’ 

Minho made a sound low in his throat. He turned around and looked at Key. It hurt him more to see the same grief reflected on Key’s face. He should want it to hurt less but what right did he have to want that?

Key reached up and wiped Minho’s tears away. ‘Look at you, you’re a mess.’

‘You, too,’ Minho shot back. 

‘If that isn’t the truth, honey, I don’t know what is.’

Sighing, Key turned away and got an empty glass from the cupboard and filled it up from the tap. He took a long sip, filled it up again, and handed it to Minho. 

‘You want to know something else that’s true?’ Key asked as he watched Minho drink. 

Minho lowered the glass. ‘What?’

‘It gets better.’

Frowning, Minho shook his head. Better? That was impossible. The world would be grey and cold from now on. He would carry this pain forever. Sometimes, it was too hard to get out of bed knowing Jonghyun wasn’t in his life anymore. He placed a hand over his heart, and Key’s lips quirked. 

‘I hated it when people said that to me after my grandmother died. How could they know how painful it was? Only I knew that. But one day, I woke up and thought of her and laughed. One day, I realised that I hadn’t thought of her at all. God, I hated myself for that. I thought I was forgetting her but I was just living my life. It sucks that I have to do it without her, but I still have to do it. And now, I have to learn how all over again.’ Key swiped his hand under his eyes, sniffling. 

‘Kibum,’ said Minho. He put down the glass and grabbed Key’s hand. 

Key gave him a weak glare. ‘You dole out comfort so easily but refuse to accept it for yourself. Idiot.’

Minho shrugged. 

Key opened his arms. ‘Minho, come here.’ 

‘I’m not one of your dogs.’

‘Debatable. Come _here_.’

Sighing, Minho stepped forward and let Key wrap his arms around him. Key’s hands were cold but the rest of him was warm. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest. 

‘It gets better?’ asked Minho quietly. ‘That seems wrong.’

‘It does feel wrong,’ said Key, ‘but it’s not. You guys taught me that. You guys helped me through that and now Jonghyun is gone and everything is wrong but you guys - ‘

‘You’re still here,’ said Minho, and fuck, he was tearing up again. It felt a little less lonely than before, though. He buried his face in Key’s neck. ‘You’re still here, you’re still here. You, Taemin, Onew - ’

‘Minho,’ whispered Key, ‘Minho’s still here.’

‘Fuck, I hate crying,’ gasped Minho, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much. ‘Jonghyun would laugh at me. Probably say I should just let it out.’ 

‘Let it out,’ said Key. He laughed, sounding fond and miserable and full of longing. ‘He always let it out, huh?’

‘Our crybaby,’ and then Minho was weeping, loud and terrible, his hands clutching desperately at Key. Key stroked his hair and whispered nonsense into his ear. It went on for a long time until Minho was spent, raw and empty and clean. 

He held on to Key for a little bit longer. ‘They really should be here by now, right?’ 

‘Hmmm, I texted them already. They’re on their way.’ 

‘Are you going to give that speech to Onew and Taemin, too?’ 

‘Probably.’ 

Minho huffed out a tired snort. He pulled away and scrubbed the tears from his face. He looked at Key. ‘Are you alright?’ 

‘No,’ said Key, ‘but you guys are with me.’ 

Minho nodded. He understood. 

The doorbell rang. 

’They’re here,’ said Key, sounding relieved. He licked his lips and looked anxiously up at Minho. ‘Is it wrong that I feel a tiny bit worse when I’m with you guys?’ 

Minho understood that, too: when every gap between them only reminded them more acutely of their loss. ‘I don’t think so, but it’s definitely worse when we’re apart.’

The doorbell rang again. The dogs barked and whined and their nails clicked on the floor. Key went to answer the door and Minho leant against the counter and listened to their quiet voices for a while, rubbing at the ache in his chest. He caught himself listening for Jonghyun’s voice and let out a shaky breath. His new reality. Minho hated it. Key was right; he would probably feel better as time passed and the wound was salted over, but he would always, always, always hate this. It didn’t have anything to do about understanding why Jonghyun did what he did. In time, he would come to that. It was living without his smile and laughter, his voice, his kind and tired eyes, his huge heart. 

Minho was hurt, and lost, and sad, and angry at himself, at Jonghyun, at the world. But he was also fucking grateful that he’d spent half his life with Jonghyun. So, so thankful. The feeling swept through him and left him breathless. 

‘Minho,’ someone called, soft and tired, and Minho glanced up and saw Taemin. He was pale and looked achingly young. ‘Key said you were in here.’ 

‘Hey, Taemin.’ 

Taemin hesitated by the threshold, arms around himself.

‘Come here,’ he said, unintentionally echoing Key, and the reminder made him smile a little. Despite his words, he was the one who went up to Taemin and embraced him. Taemin melted into him, trembling a bit. He and Taemin were the non-cryers, they often said, smiling affectionately at the cryers.

Minho rubbed his thumb over Taemin’s nape in soft, small circles. ‘Did you sleep at all?’ 

‘Kind of,’ whispered Taemin. ‘Whenever I close my eyes, I see him. He’s so still.’ 

Minho twitched. ‘Me, too. You can sleep beside me, if you want.’ 

When they’d all been younger, they used to take turns sleeping together to foster better relationships. It had been awkward with Key for the longest time, and Minho had been intimidated with Jonghyun and Onew. Older than him and infinitely more talented. With Taemin, however, it had been easy. He was somebody Minho could take care of without pretence. It helped that Taemin had clung to him, too. As the years went by and the relationships between all five of them evened out, Taemin had distanced himself a little bit to grow up and find himself, like they all had done. 

Taemin nodded into his chest. ‘Yes, please.’ 

‘Okay, done.’ 

Onew came up behind Taemin, looking as exhausted as the rest of them. Minho met his gaze and inclined his head. Onew shrugged and brushed the long fringe from his eyes, nodding at Taemin. 

‘Did you bring food?’ asked Minho. He wasn’t really hungry, but Kyuhyun kept calling him about it. There was probably already a text from him in his phone. 

‘Yeah,’ said Onew. ‘I’m gonna heat it up.’

‘Want help?’ asked Minho. 

‘No, go sit on the couch.’ 

‘But - ’

‘It’s fine, Minho.’ 

‘Well, I’m gonna help,’ said Key, coming to a stop beside Onew. ‘This is my house, you know.’

‘You and chores?’ said Minho. 

Key rolled his eyes. ‘I do chores.’ 

‘Come on, Taemin, let’s get out of the way,’ said Minho, nudging Taemin away gently. Taemin had a far-away look in his eyes and Minho frowned, but let him leave first. Minho took a few steps and hugged Onew just as tightly, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. They’re here, he reminded himself. 

Jonghyun isn’t, a small voice screamed in his head. 

Their new reality. 

But still - Minho looked into Onew’s eyes, and then Key’s. Jonghyun lived inside of them, in their memories, in their hearts, in their music. 

Onew gave him a small push. ‘Go cheer Taemin up. He always laughs when it’s you.’ 

Minho went and sat beside Taemin, holding his hand and playing with his fingers. Taemin stared blankly at the dolls. Minho asked him questions, and let him be when some of them went unanswered. Eventually, Taemin placed his head on Minho’s shoulder. 

It wasn’t long before Onew and Key came out with takeaway boxes and plates, and they ate on the floor. It was quiet at first, just the clinking of chopsticks and spoon, but then Onew started talking about the shows he was watching, asking Minho about the football matches he saw, Key about his dogs, Taemin about his. Their conversation felt stilted, wrong, lacking. Empty. But they still tried. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Taemin talked about Jonghyun. His last concert. How cool he was, the very best. How Minho was so loud beside him. Minho chimed in that he acted shy when Jonghyun sang for him. Key saw the fan pictures. They all did. Then, their stories went back, and back, and back, jumping over weeks and months and years. 

But never forward. 

It felt strange, Minho thought. They all mixed “was” with “is”. Present and past tense. How they could laugh and cry with both happiness and sadness. How time felt like it was standing still, stuck as they all were in this in-between period of wanting to go back to a time before but only able to move towards tomorrow. Minho felt both lighter and heavier, alone and suffocated with company, warm and cold. 

Jonghyun, here with them but not really. 

‘I miss him,’ said Minho, and it sounded guilty, but he couldn’t stop himself. ‘I want him here. Why isn’t he here? Why didn’t he want to be here? Why?’

Onew cleated his throat. ‘It’s not that he didn’t want to stay but - ‘

Minho looked at their worn faces. ‘Would he have hated us if we made him stay?’  

‘He would have been happy, I know that,’ said Key.

‘He was really beautiful,’ murmured Taemin, hugging his knees to his chest. ‘I have a lot of things to say to him.’

Onew said, ‘He’s listening.’

‘I miss you,’ said Key, crying again. None of them had really stopped.

‘I miss you,’ said Onew, and his voice cracked and he looked so sorry. 

‘You left us,’ said Taemin, ‘and I don’t want to live in a world without you. I feel numb, but I miss you. That’s a feeling, right? One of the most painful. I miss you, Jonghyun.’

Minho watched their faces and felt it all swell inside him: grief, love, denial, fear, longing. He wanted to shout to relieve some of the pressure. He wanted to take each one of them in his arms and never let go. He wanted to wipe Jonghyun’s tears one last time. He wanted to sing with him again. He wanted to watch and count each new wrinkle that appeared on Jonghyun’s face.

His new reality. 

Minho reached out blindly and wasn’t surprised when three hands clutched at him, clammy and cold but firm. If he closed his eyes, he could feel a fourth hand joining in. They are here, Minho thought again. 

‘I miss you,’ said Minho, opening his eyes and looking at his best friends, ‘and you did so fucking well, Jonghyun.’

 

 

 


End file.
